Russian Doll

9/2/24

I thought I had covered all I had.
Made my face iron-clad:
sharp jaw, ocean eyes.
Drank half my weight in water
and the other in lean meat,
caffeine, coffee, protein, and creatine.
Reflected on the identity of me:
who, what, where I was
when I let you get to me.
I thought I did my job,
all done and complete.
Washed my hands of you,
but I’m glued to my screen,
sick to my seat, my stomach binging
the hurt I shove down my larynx.
I wrote a letter I’ll never send
about gratitude and Plath,
with the name on the address
to the glass castle we made
out of sand I used to line our grave.
I really thought I did it all.
Praying five times a day:
bruised knees, missionary,
fucking out my Achilies heel
with a hammer and nail, like Misery,
receding itself back onto me.
Russian doll identity, six feet deep
down bad in the weeds,
lay my head in a flower bed
looking at the sky, all blue and radiant
wishing you were right here,
next to me.

I didn’t think I’d leave me again,
like Yesterday in my dreams,
I still see you across the street,
with the same face as me
all done-up and confident,
assured they’d never leave,
then I close my eyes,
take a deep breath, and make
a promise
to never wake up from my sleep.